


Casus

by Palex



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crushing The Patriarchy, Explicit Language, F/M, Legion!Courier, Sexism, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palex/pseuds/Palex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conquering the NCR was only the beginning of the Courier’s journey. The jade eyed woman was determined to bring Caesar to his knees, sooner or later. What she wasn’t expecting was to team up with the failed Centurion, Silus, and drag the infamous Vulpes Inculta into staging a coup d’état within the Legion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adversus Solem Ne Loquitor

**Author's Note:**

> Tentative AN: this piece has gone unbetaed. If you find any errors, message me so I can fix them ASAP.

**_Adversus Solem Ne Loquitor:_   
** _Do Not Speak Against The Sun_   
  


The Courier could count on one hand how many times she’d come close to losing a bet.  
  
Once, when she bet Raul that she could do a handstand for twelve hours straight.  
  
Twice, when she gambled her life on the stakes at the Sierra Madre.  
  
Currently, the nameless Courier laid between the sheets of silk in the Lucky 38. A tickle in the back of her throat elicited the most bone wracking shakes, coughs, and tremors that hadn’t left since she stumbled home from that god forsaken abandoned bunker. She’d survived the Big Empty and had a few cybernetic upgrades, a vast new understanding of science and the Old World, but what did she have after the Madre?  
  
A dozen solid bars of gold weren’t a consolation enough for her life.  
  
In the five days she’d been trapped within the walls of the Sierra Madre (which felt like five lifetimes), and the two weeks she spent recovering from the ordeal, it seemed to fade into a sepia toned memory of a past life. It was unsettling how easily she was compartmentalizing those traumatizing segments of her life, but now wasn’t the time for dwelling. With the Second Battle for Hoover Dam only days away, she had a lot more concerning political matters on the table.  
  
The Courier wasn’t a fool. She was a power player and she knew exactly how many cards she held in her hand at any given time to play to her advantage. Running the entire Mojave by herself wasn’t an option. Yet. The pretty blue eyed Courier was a silver tongue that managed to finagle every family on the Strip under her thumb. Just outside the New Vegas gates in Freeside, the Garretts owed her more favors than she could count, and the King gave her his unyielding support in the form of a brandished leather jacket.  
  
Westside renowned her as a walking beacon for humanity. Deeper in the underground Thorn, tales of her bloodshed inside the arena sparked rumors and gossip that didn’t leave to see the light of day. Testament to her bloodshed was seen with the Powder Gangers and the NCRCF prison she single handedly struck down with her mighty fist of justice. She was a Machiavellian hero. Loved, revered, and adored by her people throughout the Mojave Desert. Feared, loathed, and respected by her enemies from Shady Sands to Camp McCarran.  
  
The Courier was a leader and negotiator by nature. What the Mojave taught her since waking in Doc Mitchell’s clinic in the podunk little town of Goodsprings on the cusp of nowhere, was that the only way to have order in the Wasteland was through the chaos of violence and war. What better tyrant to rule? Caesar or Aaron Kimball? Taming Kimball and the NCR would be impossible. The years it would take to integrate into that corrupt system would leave the Mojave defenseless and unprotected. That was why when Caesar asked her to put a bullet between his eyes, she did.  
  
Being a militaristic slave society, Caesar’s Legion had a lot of room for improvement. It was still only a baby being carefully groomed and shaped by Caesar. If it were to become a nation, it would need the push of a people person, a politician with the means to get things done quickly, efficiently, and more times than not, by blood. That was when Caesar realized the Courier that walked out of her grave and tracked Benny across the Wasteland just to put a bullet in his head was an asset to his Legion. That was also when the Courier realized just how much influence she held.  
  
Two months had passed since the day Vulpes Inculta bestowed upon her the Mark of Caesar. In that time, she’d gone above and beyond Caesar’s expectations and stacked the cards in their favor. Many questions had been raised about her steady involvement with the Legion. After the war was over, did she intend to become a member of the Legion? Marry an officer? Would the Strip be dismantled of its vices and rebuilt on Legion ideals?  
  
The Courier had very sharp answers to all these questions. When the war was over, she did in fact intend on becoming a member of the Legion. What specifically that would entail, she did not know, but she sure as hell wouldn’t be relinquishing her control of the Strip so easily. With all the work she’d done under the crimson flag, Caesar better damn well recognize her efforts and reward them appropriately with a status to match her power. As for the Strip itself, it’d be up to her to defend the casino’s rights and liberties of the people of Vegas areas.  
  
A soft knock at the bedroom door drew the Courier from her musings. “Yeah?” She called out to Raul, the only other living soul in the building besides herself. The door cracked open enough to reveal one half of the ghoul mechanic’s tattered flesh. “Boss, there’s a messenger here for you. Said his name’s Cato, that you know him.”  
  
A Frumentarius.  
  
The Courier sat up and let the silk sheets fall away from her body. “You brought him to the Cocktail Lounge?”  
  
“Sure did, Boss.”  
  
Running a hand through her tangled strands, the Courier swung her legs over the side of the bed, toes barely skimming the floor. “Keep him busy while I get dressed.”  
  
First order of business, take a bath. In record time the Courier scurried into the bathroom and scrubbed the dead skin and body odor off her flesh and wrestled with her knotted hair as much the time crunch allowed. She quickly donned a pair of athletic training pants and a mesh shirt, with a sports bra for modesty. Stepping into a pair of combat boots, she made her way to the elevator and waited for the rickety box to arrive just a few floors lower at the Cocktail Lounge.  
  
Cato was sitting rigidly at a vinyl booth while Raul sipped a tumbler of gin languidly at the bar. Upon the Courier’s arrival, he gave her a two fingered salute and meandered further along the lounge to give the two associates their privacy. The Courier sauntered towards the floor to ceiling windows, gazing out over the Strip. Tiny patrons, the size of ants, mingled from one trap to another. Past the squat figures of the casinos she could make out the outline of the Hoover Dam, and perhaps even beyond that, the Fort looming in the distance.  
  
“You should come have a look. The view here is fantastic.”  
  
Cato politely declined. From his posture and strained voice, the Courier inferred the Frumentarius must be afraid of heights. She smirked knowingly. Turning around, she pressed her shoulders against the cool glass. “What brings you to my side of the river, partner?”  
  
With the focus of conversation directed on topic, Cato seemed to shake some of his uneasiness. “Caesar sends for your presence at the Fort. The Legates troops will arrive on the morrow, and you are expected to cooperate with him to formulate an offensive.”  
  
“I’ve got an offensive planned already; storm the castle, kick ass. Simple as that.”  
  
Cato frowned. It made three deep creases appear in his forehead, taking away from his youthful appearance. “I hope not. The Legion will depend on you now just as it has in your diplomatic missions.” The Courier snorted and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  
  
“Don’t blame me if I seem a little skeptical about this. The big boys are actually inviting me to play with them this time?”  
  
“It would seem so,” Cato grit through clenched teeth. “Caesar begrudgingly admits you are a skilled tactician and your input would be most appreciated, as well as your participation in the battle.”  
  
The Courier had never gotten along with the Frumentarii. It either intimidated them that she was so much better at their jobs than they were, or it had something to do with her bad relationship with their leader, Vulpes Inculta. After the situation with Martina Groesbeck went haywire, and the informant had to be put down, Vulpes blamed her for the failure. But, it was the Courier who insisted if Vulpes had explained the situation more thoroughly and that Martina was under the impression she was selling information Captain Curtis of the NCR, not Picus the Frumentarius, the sordid woman would still be alive.  
  
This little altercation led to many other battles of wills between the cunning Frumentarius and relentless Courier. At every step of the journey, he questioned her motives and authority, even her loyalty to the bull. Gaining favor within the Legion was an uphill battle, being a woman and all, and Vulpes Inculta made that incline just a bit more steeper.  
  
“I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll be there.”  
  
“Immediately.”  
  
The sharp, bitten off command caught the Courier off guard. Viridian eyes narrowed fractionally, weight shifting onto her back foot. “Pardon?”  
  
“Caesar has commanded you to return at once. Tardiness will not be tolerated.”  
  
Suddenly, there was a sharp click from somewhere behind Cato. Cool steel kissed his nape. Hot, clammy breath washed over his cheek. “I wouldn’t piss off the mujer that has show you so much courtesy, letting you into her home and all.” Raul’s carefree demeanor was replaced with the chilly facade of the Vaquero. Cato’s eyes widened marginally and darted to the Courier’s smirking visage.  
  
“Cato, why don’t you run along back to the Fort and tell Caesar I’ll only be an hour behind you.”  
  
“Do you expect this to win you any favors within the Legion?”  
  
“Well now,” The blonde woman stroked her chin, feigning deep contemplation. “If I were your superior officer, and you addressed me in such a disrespectful manner, I’d be well within my rights to have you flogged for the entire camp to see, crucify you, or maybe even snap a collar around your neck if I was feeling particularly spiteful.” She let her hand drop and stalked towards the elevator without a glance in the Frumentarius’ direction.  
  
“Raul, show him out.”  
  


“Sure thing, Boss.” **  
**


	2. Veritas Vos Liberabit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: to all readers who read the original chapter one of this story, the premise of it has been entirely changed. If you don't reread it, you'll be totally lost right now.

_**Veritas Vos Liberabit  
** The Truth Will Set You Free_

Hauling two-hundred-something pounds of equipment across the Mojave wasn’t the Courier’s cup of tea. The ferry from Cottonwood Cove to the Fort was a welcomed reprieve from the harsh heat radiating from the scorching asphalt. If Raul were there, he’d have obligingly taken half her load, albeit with a sarcastic remark about being an old man. He was Old World in that way.  
  
Unfortunately, she had to order him to stay on the Strip. Once the NCR was toppled at the Dam, the Embassy would be buzzing. Raul would be solely responsible for preventing an internal siege on the Strip as a latch ditch effort on the NCR’s part to hold their territory in the Mojave. It’d be a foolish move. With the monorail out of working order, they’d be stranded with no supplies, and if they thought the casino families would aid them, they were dead wrong.  
  
“You seem troubled, Courier.” Cursor Lucullus observed casually. He glanced back at the petite female sprawled along the back on the gondola shamelessly. She cracked open one emerald orb and regarded him lazily for a moment. “Nope, just tired is all.” She replied before closing her eye once more and letting her head rolling with the soft lolling of the boat. That uncomfortable tickle constricted her throat.  
  
Lucullus hummed reflectively, pushing the boat further down the river. He was a quiet man. That particular breed of silence meant he was either deeply thoughtful, or awfully simple. The Courier wasn’t exactly sure which category he fell under. Squinting up at the sky, she watched wispy ribbons of clouds breeze by. It was so different from the large tufts of cotton that inhabited the skies of Zion.  
  
Too soon, Lucullus tossed a rope around a barnacle covered piling, securing the gondola to the Fort’s dock. The Courier offered a brief thanks to the Cursor before gathering her pack and hopping onto the rickety wood of the dock's walking planks. The gate guards didn’t stop her as they usually did to confiscate her weapons. Their complacency was unusual, but the circumstances were as well.  
  
The Fort was eerily silent.  
  
Legionaries meticulously sharpened their weapons in relative quiet, conversing in murmurs. Not many turned to acknowledge her presence as she made her way to Caesar’s compound. Female slaves were mysteriously absent from making their treks up and down the hill to the upper tier of the camp, and the Courier could only guess why. It made her nose wrinkle in disgust. Legion soldiers outnumbered their female counterparts three to one. Those poor girls were going to be passed around like Med-X needles in Gomorrah.  
  
The Courier kept her anger in check. Soon, she promised herself, things would change. Slaves would be divided into classes; the working class would be untouchable, dedicating their lives to a craft or service. The remaining pleasure class would be herded into designated brothels to live and work. Call girls could be found at Gomorrah if any Legionaries were so inclined.  
  
“Well look what the fucking cat dragged in.”  
  
She knew that voice. That angry, hurt, betrayed voice. The Courier turned slowly to face the blond man behind her.  
  
“Arcade,” she rumbled stoically. The man pushed his glasses further up his nose. He was in relatively good shape. No cuts, bruises, or broken bones to speak of, but his cheeks were looking gaunt and his complexion pale. Hungry strike, most likely. Arcade was too valuable an asset to Caesar to be squandered among his officers. In their eyes, he was simply a living Autodoc.  
  
“I’m surprised you didn’t track down Cass and Veronica. You know, invite them to the local festivities. Looks like Raul had the good sense to stay away too.”  
  
“Raul is back at the 38, keeping the Strip secure.” Her eyes softened fractionally. “You know I wished you no harm. Part of the deal was Lucius looked after you appropriately.”  
  
This only seemed to inflame the furious doctor further.  
  
“Look after me? What right do you have to care about my well being? You _sold_ me as a _fucking slave_ –”  
  
“–Arcade–”  
  
“–to the cruelest man in the Wasteland. Was the reward worth it? Or–”  
  
“– _Arcade_ –”  
  
“–was helping your Lord and Savior Caesar enough to save your soul from all the damnable things you’ve–”  
  
“– _Arcade!_ ”  
  
The bespectacled scientist furrowed sparse brows. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“You’re causing a scene.”  
  
He followed the direction of her gaze to a rather tense looking pair Centurions who watched them with thinly veiled contempt. Obviously, not many were pleased with the fine treatment Caesar’s newest slave was garnering. Just enough insubordination on his part, and the officers would be well within their right to give Arcade a beating he wouldn’t forget… or worse.  
  
Arcade clamped his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth.  
  
The Courier reached out and brushed his arm. Arcade flinched harder than she expected. Perhaps he wasn’t totally unscathed after all. “Caesar is expecting me. Come with?”  
  
The former Follower of the Apocalypse sighed defeatedly. “Not like I have anywhere else to go,” he muttered sarcastically.  
  
Slowly, the former companions made their way up the hill in uncomfortable silence. How badly the Courier wished things could be different, but everything she had done was of absolute necessity. The Autodoc was in shambles. Raul himself said it would take weeks for him to put it in working order, even if the Courier scrounged the spare parts needed for the repair. She didn’t have time to fly back out to Big Mountain and have the Think Tank explain how to perform brain surgery.  
  
No, Caesar had days, a week at best, before the tumor would overtake him. The Courier was under pressure from all sides and she had to save him. Her luck may have maxed out a Vigor Tester, but there was no way in hell she would gamble that. Arcade was the only shot at saving Caesar. She lured him back to the Fort under some false pretense or another. Watched as Silus strode into the tent and forced Arcade to his knees. Watched as he snapped the collar around his neck, just the way he’d described to Lieutenant Boyd back at McCarran.  
  
It was war, she reasoned with herself. She was logical to a fault.  
  
“Courier,” the Praetorians standing sentry nodded her through, not even acknowledging the doctor at her side. Slaves weren’t to be regarded as equal status to Legionaries. It was amazing they even recognized her as a person.  
  
Inside, it was disturbingly quiet as well. The first sight to greet her eyes was Cato, brooding over a set of maps with Lucius. The Frumentarius’ face colored with distaste when he spotted her. Lucius, noticing the change in atmosphere, turned to greet the new arrival. “Ave,” he said solemnly. His eyes flickered briefly to Arcade, then back to her. Curiosity niggled at the back of her mind. Interesting.  
  
“Lord Caesar,” The Courier sang, dancing her way to the warlord’s private tent. He was laid up exactly the same as when she left to follow the whisper of the Sierra Madre, except now he was awake and propped against the headboard. Once she reached his side, she bowed shallowly in a small display of respect, and took a seat in the wooden chair next to his bedside.  
  
Old Edward Sallow was looking worse for wear, but the Courier supposed invasive brain surgery did that to a person. A stack of Latin texts dominated his bedside table. The titles were familiar to the Courier. When the she began to express genuine interest in his Legion, Caesar opened his vast study of Latin works for her persual. Her astounding intelligence ate up the material. She was nearly fluent in the language.  
  
In those texts, she read about the true ancient civilization of the Roman Empire. Of their rising, of their gods, of the famed Julius Caesar, Brutus and the fall of Caesar, and of the inevitable fall of Rome. The literature sparked such a curious flame within her it became a raging inferno. She was consumed with the demise of the Roman Empire. Like Sallow, she was determined to make the Legion thrive, albeit for different reasons.  
  
“Courier,” Caesar addressed her gruffly. His voice was hoarse in its weakened state. “Took you long enough.”  
  
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The blonde sufficed with her trademark disarming grin. Caesar remained somber.  
  
“In two days we march on the Dam. Are you prepared?”  
  
“Always.”  
  
“My Legion will march on the Strip the following dawn.”  
  
Goosebumps broke out along the Courier’s exposed arms, caused by the chill that went down her spine. She expected to have this conversation, yes, but not at a time like this. Though, she supposed this was better than in a room full of testosterone fueled officers hopped up on adrenaline. Right now, her fate, the fate of the Strip, and the future of New Vegas relied solely on her ability to negotiate.  
  
“No need. I’ve assured my factions of the Strip will greet you appropriately.”  
  
“ _Your_ factions?” Caesar shifted to fully face her. The warning look in his dull eyes was nothing compared to the sharp one in her jade ones.  
  
“Yes,” she stated defiantly, raising her chin. “Without me, you’ll encounter a full on siege on the Strip not by the NCR, but the casino families themselves.”  
  
“I’ll do whatever I fucking want to the Strip. Maybe I’ll burn down every casino, enslave every family, and you with them.”  
  
Now wasn’t the time to back down. The stakes were higher than ever. The Courier leaned forward, a stray lock of hair falling to frame her delicate bone structure. In the Fort, she wore her hair totally scraped into a messy ponytail, wearing her ghastly bullet scar proudly as a badge of honor.  
  
“Don’t be a fool, _Edward_. You preach purity to your Legion, but forget what the Strip represents. If you take away the booze, the gambling, the prostitutes? Wastelanders will flee. Not to Freeside or Westside, not North Vegas Square or the sewers, but to New Reno. To Shady Sands.”  
  
“I know how to–” He snarled, but was swiftly cut off; something that didn’t happen very often at all.  
  
“I’m not finished. Ask Vulpes Inculta what he knows about the Strip. He knows names, he knows faces, he knows worthless pieces of information. He knows nothing of the profits the casinos rake in every month. Every _week_. He doesn’t know the profits I take from those casinos as tithe.” This bit of knowledge seemed to take Caesar by surprise. There were some things not all of his eyes and ears saw or heard. “Massive profits that could fuel your Legion, your Empire, should you play your cards correctly.”  
  
Moments of heavy silence filled the gap in which Caesar should’ve ordered her execution. The Courier felt beads of sweat race down her back. Arcade shifted awkwardly in the corner. She forgot he followed her in there.  
  
“And just what,” Caesar drawled slowly. “Courier, do you suggest?”  
  
This was it.  
  
Words of her carefully constructed plans for Vegas fell from her lips, from a mandated tithe tax on the public and integration of Roman religion, to the mandatory drafting process and systematic application for citizenship. The sun in the sky extinguished as it dipped low beneath the horizon, and the moon rose to shine gently over the landscape, yet she still had more to say. Caesar was enthralled with the architecture of this society she’d created in his society. Lifting bans on alcohol, only to add them heavily on illicit drug dealing and undocumented human trafficking. And the _arena_ , to give the people enticing raw carnage, Roman holidays dedicated to sanctioned bloodshed and violence.  
  
Nearly blue in the face, the Courier finally sat back in her chair, heart pumping rhythmically in her eardrums. She looked expectantly up at Caesar through the wild bangs that hung in front of her eyes, concealing the sinewy scar crawling up her temple.

“And what do you expect to gain from all this, Courier?” Caesar asked at last. Her eyes immediately softened a shade, her voice genuine.  
  
“A place in your Legion– a real one. Among your trusted inner circle.”  
  
Little did she know, she was already in that circle. All she lacked was the title of ‘Legate’, ‘Centurion’, ‘Praetorian’, or ‘Frumentarius’.  
  
“I will have something arranged.” He added, as an afterthought: "And Courier, speak to me that way again and I promise you'll envy my previous Legate."  
  
Taking her cue, the Courier bowed deeply in respect and hurried out of the bed chamber, closing the flap behind her. The thumping in her chest hadn’t subsided. Just like that, and she had it. Unconsciously, her fingers sought the weight of the Mark that still hung from its golden chain around her neck.

* * *

  
The day prior to the battle flew by in a blur of human activity. The Courier kept busy reviewing and revising maps and blueprints of the Dam with the officers leading the attack on the Dam. With her help, they were able to pinpoint confirmed sniper nests and left the duty of securing them to the Frumentarii. The Enclave Remnants arrived at midday and were briefed with their assigned contubernium. The Boomers radioed their drop confirmation.  
  
Everything fell perfectly to place.  
  
As dusk fell over the camp, the Courier found herself sitting on a rocky cliff edge facing the Dam. In a few short hours, the bloodiest battle of the Mojave was about to take place. Tonight the Fort was alive with the sounds of men celebrating their mortality. Come noon, many of them would already be dead in the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monster was originally a whopping nine pages long, so I took a little mercy and divided it in half between chapters one and two. Hopefully I'll keep chugging out two chapter updates like this. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and motivate me immensely


	3. Veni, Vidi, Vici

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, I had a creative block with the plot of this story. Lucky for you guy I've got everything all sorted out now. Also: Cassandra Moore is highly underrated.  
> PSA: I could really use a beta. Hit me up. Please.

**_Veni, Vidi, Vici_ **

_I Came, I Saw, I Conquered_

 

Empty shells crunched under the Courier’s boots as she ambled towards Fortification Hill. Recruits rounded up the degenerate corpses littering the Dam and disposed of them properly. She prayed it wouldn’t take long. There was much left unsaid between her and Caesar. The sticky blood trapped inside her armor was slowly beginning to chafe various sensitive patches of skin along her thighs.

Aside from dealing with the general, the Courier had a special personal conquest within the Dam. Colonel Cassandra Moore had been a fierce opponent, but due to lingering injuries from her Ranger days, she’d succumbed to the Courier’s prowess fairly easy. Instead of killing the woman, the Courier collared her with a heavy link of chain and led her back to the Fort, unlike Lee, who she sent to Silus with a note attached. It took a vast amount of effort to keep grabby Legionaries from snatching the Courier’s prize away from her. More than once, she grazed her hand over the pistol at her hip in polite warning. _Mine._

Once the two women were within the safety of the Courier’s tent, she wasted no time tethering Moore’s leash to a support beam. The former Colonel hadn’t stopped kicking or spitting insults for a minute. Sighing, the Courier sat astride a rickety wooden chair and stared at her prisoner. A coughing fit threatened to unleash itself, but the strong willed blonde forced it at bay.

“When you were discharged from the Rangers, you left someone behind. Ranger Stella, if I’m not mistaken?” A half smirk curled at the corner of the Courier's lips. She knew she wasn’t mistaken. She’d triple checked her intel.

Cassandra ceased her thrashing.

“I see I have your attention now.”

“Rot in hell, you Legion bitch!” Moore hissed and struggled with her restraints futilely. The Courier clucked her tongue admonishingly.

“Be careful, Colonel. Your behavior determines whether your precious Stella lives or dies.”

Cassandra only glared at the green eyed woman.

“There’s been talk of fighting Stella to the death in the arena. It’ll most likely happen tonight when your soldiers are pitted against each other. I can save her life in exchange for yours.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, no, Colonel,” the Courier chuckled softly. “You misunderstand.”

The atmosphere began to shift ever so slightly. Tendrils of sunlight burning through the shoddy tent caught the calculating gleam cropping up in the Courier’s glaucous eyes. It was then Colonel Moore realized she was on the precipice of a trap that’d been eloquently created by the gambler. A trap she was doomed to play into from the start.

“Have you ever heard my tale, Colonel Moore?” Leaning forward to rest her chin on the back of the chair, the Courier gazed up at her prisoner through sooty eyelashes. “I crawled out of shallow grave in Goodsprings, shot twice in the face by that pompous snake, Benny. Who I am today is a product of everything I encountered after I awoke. I was a clean slate at the beginning of my journey.

“At first, I just wanted to track down my package, deliver it accordingly, and exact revenge on Benny. But along the way I was faced with many decisions that led me to where I am today. Most of them were forced on me by your NCR, or Caesar’s Legion. One theme that’s prevailed in my life in the Mojave is an unending throng of arrogant men that want to order me around to their own ends.

“You’re a strong woman, Cassandra. You know what it feels like when some bastard with a shriveled cock looks down his nose at you because of your gender. You should understand my hatred for the egotistical patriarchies that rule this desert. Kimball, Caesar, House. If you could do it all over, Colonel, would you side with any of these tyrants?”

A plot was beginning to unravel in the sand before Colonel Moore. Her tongue was frozen as she continued to stare at the champagne haired Courier and the nasty scar marring her temple began to take on new meaning. It was a symbol within itself of great suffering the woman in front of her had endured at the hands of men. Wisely, the military commander stayed silent.

The Courier rose from her seat and began to pace around her captive.

“Caesar has the perfect army. A legion of slaves living only to serve him, mostly attributed to his false god status. To protect this Wasteland, I’d need soldiers willing to die unhesitatingly for me. It takes years to amass that kind of power. Time I don’t have. Caesar is more or less on his deathbed, and this whole ramshackle organization would be thrown into chaos with his passing.

“Do you understand what I’m getting at?"

Stopping a hair’s breadth away from Cassandra, the Courier cocked her head innocuously to the side. The weight of her viridian eyes settled on Moore heavier than the length of chain biting into her throat.

“You’re going to usurp Caesar.”

“More or less,” the Courier replied with a flippant wave of her hand. “But sadly you’re missing the point. Conquering Caesar’s Legion is just step one of my scheme.”

“New Vegas? You want to take New Vegas?”

The Courier grinned patronizingly. “Now you’re getting there. My horizons are a bit more broad, but that’s the idea at work here.”

“Why do you want me? Why tell me all this?”

Again, the blood soaked Courier clucked her tongue. “Cassandra, dear, don’t sell yourself short! We both know you were the most competent leader the NCR ever had this far east.” Her grin became downright wolfish. “I need someone like you by my side to ensure complete annihilation of my enemies. Someone that will unerringly carry out my orders with wholehearted dedication.”

For a moment, Cassandra considered it.

She considered a lavish life in a suite at the Lucky 38, wrapped up in silken Pre-War sheets with Stella’s naked flesh pressed against hers. Commanding armies of crimson clad men and women under the flag of a golden bull. Building a magnificent Empire to recreate a beacon of humanity that would stand the test of time.

And then, she quite literally hacked a gob of bloody spit right on the Courier’s grimy cheek

“Fuck you.”

The way the Courier’s face twisted up in disgust made her sneer.

“So you want to act like a rabid slave?” The Courier’s right hand shot out and grasped a handful of Colonel Moore’s matted up locks, yanking her head painfully. “I’ll treat you like one.”

Cassandra Moore learned why the Courier was famous for her left hook.

 

* * *

 

By dusk, Fortification Hill was alight with triumph.

The flesh fires had burned out much earlier, but the Courier was too preoccupied with her newest project to attend the lighting of the ceremonial pyres. It wasn’t like she’d miss the fallen recruits. Battles served to thin out the weak and cowardly. But, she’d award them the respect they deserved for holding fast to their beliefs. Numerous NCR grunts had turned tail at battle when tides began to turn.

There was just enough time for her to make it to the public execution of General Oliver Lee. A messenger recruit had busted into the Courier’s private tent to discover her in the midst of Colonel Moore’s recalibration with an order from Caesar. Tossing an aureus to the frightened boy, the Courier took her leave and gave him instructions to find Siri and bring her to tend the Colonel’s wounds. A bath should’ve been the Courier’s first concern, but a clean appearance would only discredit her barbaric image within the Legion. It was better to chafe and be respected, than groomed and mocked.

“Courier!” A familiar voice shouted from the top of the hill. Silus was standing outside of Caesar’s tent, Oliver Lee collared at his side. The General was near unrecognizable by now. Blood caked his tattered uniform and dirty skin. He limped obediently behind Silus as the Centurion approached the fair haired Courier. He was a dead man on his feet.

“Silus,” the woman greeted with a smirk. “If it isn’t my favorite snub nosed bastard.”

“I’m taking the lamb to slaughter. Lanius was not thrilled you brought him back alive.”

Snorting, the Courier strode comfortably beside Silus as they journeyed to the impromptu executioner’s platform at the base of Fortification Hill. Somehow, with the impending war, Silus had managed to evade Caesar’s wrath. It was no secret he held no love for the ailing dictator. The Courier planned to make use of this in the near future.

“Lanius is the least of my concerns. I can’t wait for him to get the fuck out of the Mojave.”

“You and me both, Courier.”

It was quite a shame Lanius didn’t fit into the Courier’s grand plan. While devoted solely to Caesar, she wouldn’t bet on him easily swearing such loyalty to his usurper. Especially if that usurper was a woman a third of his stature. The Courier shivered at the tales she’d heard about the Monster of the East. Rumor had it that he ripped his slaves' eyes out to ensure they never caught a glimpse of what lay under his iron mask.

The Butcher stood proudly at the steps of the execution platform, the Blade of the East glinting in the dying light, along with his menacing mask. Caesar stood atop the platform, flanked by Lucius and Vulpes. Another half dozen Praetorians stood rigidly at attention behind them. The Legionaries gathered began to howl as the defeated NCR General was led to his death.

“Join me, Courier.” Caesar commanded just as she turned to melt seamlessly into the crowd, stopping her dead in her tracks. Squaring her shoulders, the petite woman marched confidently past Lanius, whose glare she could feel piercing her damaged armor. With each ominous thud of her boots, the Courier couldn’t shake the feeling it was her that was walking towards her death.

Oliver Lee’s execution was swift. One stroke of the Legate’s massive sword, and his head was rolling at Caesar’s feet. The Courier curiously observed the expression of relief his lifeless features held. She couldn't imagine the grotesque torture he’d been subjected to inside Caesar’s hooch. She didn’t want to either. The Courier didn’t believe in mindless torture and abuse. They were tools to be used only when teaching.

Two Praetorians lugged away Lee’s corpse to be tossed over the cliff. Then, Caesar stepped forward, demanding the rapt attention of his legion. From the pouch at his hip, he produced an aureus, holding it high. Because of her vantage point, the Courier could see it was carved with a different image and inscription.

“With this coin, the Legion will forever commemorate the service this Courier has done for us. She has united the factions of the Mojave under the bull, strengthening our victory against the bear, and delivering me New Vegas on a silver platter.” Caesar turned to the Courier then, the look in his eyes urging her to shuffle forward and accept the coin as he pressed it into her palm.

“Mars no doubt sent you to us as blessing. That is why I now bestow upon you the title of Consul, to become one of my most trusted advisors, and gift you with a name.”

_A name._

No. Something didn’t bode well with the haughty inflection in Caesar’s voice. The Courier met his eyes and read the look there. _I won_. Her heart leapt to her throat and dropped down into the pit of her stomach.

“By accepting this coin and this position among my Legion, you will be reborn as Priscilla, and betrothed to Vulpes Inculta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get any ideas, NO this isn't going to be one of those cliche tropes where Vulpes and the Courier get married and fall in love and she submits to the Legion, etc, etc, etc. I mean, come on. Did you miss her monologue on crushing the patriarchy? It's gonna be getting matriarchal in this bitch pretty soon.


End file.
